Quotes About Death

It is vain for the coward to flee death follows close behind it is only by defying it that the brave escape.

The curtains were open to darkness. Arevin had not moved since returning from the observation point, where he had looked down upon the eastern desert and the rolling masses of storm clouds. The killing winds turned sharp-edged sand grains into lethal weapons. In the storm, heavy clothing would not protect Arevin, nor would any amount of courage or desperation. A few moments in the desert would kill him; an hour would strip his bones bare. In the spring no trace of him would be left.

We would rather be ruined than changed We would rather die in our dread Than climb the cross of the moment And let our illusions die.

Nas?l da ölümdür müzik SevdiÄŸin ÅŸark? söylerken.

I wondered briefly if cats also came back after death, then dismissed the thought because as far as I had ever been able to tell, cats do not have a purpose.

We both knew what was happening now, and we were both grateful for it. Of all the wonderful things that humans do for dogs, this was one of the best—helping us when we are in the sort of pain that can only be eased with death.

Drown in a cold vat of whiskey? Death, where is thy sting?

When we have lost everything, including hope, life becomes a disgrace, and death a duty.

By mourning tongues The death of the poet was kept from his poems.

Harrow the house of the dead; look shining atNew styles of architecture, a change of heart.

O plunge your hands in water,Plunge them in up to the wrist;Stare, stare in the basinAnd wonder what you've missed.The glacier knocks in the cupboard,The desert sighs in the bed,And the crack in the tea cup opensA lane to the land of the dead.

I sit in one of the divesOn Fifty-second StreetUncertain and afraidAs the clever hopes expireOf a low dishonest decade:Waves of anger and fearCirculate over the brightAnd darkened lands of the earth,Obsessing our private lives;The unmentionable odor of deathOffends the September night.

I long to reach out, to pull Death close, to feel it wind around my shoulders and tighten about my waist. I want its chill to cup my breasts, and stroke my throat. Death's cold thrust will spread from my womb through my hips and into my bones. As it slips around the base of my skull and lies metallic on my tongue, I can finally let go. Then, and only then, will I be free to find Badgertail again.

La amabilidad es para los vivos. Los muertos ya no la necesitan.

The dead will think the living are worth it we will knowWho we areAnd we will all enlist again.

The urge to reproduce, once inextricably linked to sex, may have a connection to a neurotic fantasy of cheating death by creating an enduring legacy. You can test the primal strength of this cultural idea by noting how no one questions the rationality of reproduction, even in a world of rapidly dwindling resources. Meanwhile, people who choose not to have children often receive both religious and secular disdain as selfish, the breakers of an unspoken social contract, or simply odd.

Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it.

I [Death] was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.

Death doesn't affect the living because it has not happened yet. Death doesn't concern the dead because they have ceased to exist.

Death is a very dull, dreary affair, and my advice to you is to have nothing whatsoever to do with it.

There was an immeasurable distance between the quick and the dead they did not seem to belong to the same species and it was strange to think that but a little while before they had spoken and moved and eaten and laughed.

It's difficult to have fun or to achieve concentration when your ego is engaged in what it thinks is a life-and-death struggle.

Lady, I know death will come but I avoid it because I can rationally foresee the devastation it will wreak upon my life. Yet after death, I will be beyond this mortal coil, and either in eternal pleasure or damnation. This thing that you do is worse than death, as it will leave me alive and in a perpetual state of agony. You may as well cast me into Hell." She

The true poet is all the time a visionary and whether with friends or not, as much alone as a man on his death bed.